


A Little too Late

by Caffinated_Story



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical Hetalia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 12:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6470560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffinated_Story/pseuds/Caffinated_Story
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Denmark has an awful habit of being just a little bit too late to things.<br/>He's a little too late at realising when things are about to go wrong. A little too late at picking up the signs that he should give up and go home. Too late to realise when a battle was no longer worth fighting.<br/>A little too late to fix the damage he'd done or mend what's been broken.<br/>Yet, in the end, what always hurts the most is being a little too late to save them</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Based off Dencloud's wonderful artwork of Denmark.  
> http://dencloudart.tumblr.com/post/141213459135

Denmark has an awful habit of being just a little bit too late to things.

Important things mostly – because they were the ones that mattered and thus remembered.

He's a little too late at realising when things are about to go wrong. A little too late at picking up the signs that he should give up and go home. Too late to realise when a battle was no longer worth fighting.  
A little too late to fix the damage he'd done or mend what's been broken.

He was a little too late in realising he couldn't keep Norway and Sweden.  
A little too late in realising he couldn't just ignore what was going on.

Yet, in the end, what always hurts the most is being a little too late to save them.

Nations undergo many perils, from their peers to their people.  
Little things become so much bigger when people are full of fear.  
What was once treasured and deemed important falls from grace over night, crumbling to the earth with no warning.

He's been too late to battles.  
Too late to take a stand, too late to take up arms and too late to save the ones who mattered the most. 

They'll rise again – they always do.  
But in the moment, in that one terrifying moment when they stop breathing, fear takes over and clouds his judgement.  
What if they don't wake up again?  
What if they don't take another breath?  
What if this really is the end?

Those are the questions he doesn't want to ask of face, but he's always little too late to avoid them.

Norway had written to him about an unrest, an unsettling feeling was rising within him and he wanted Denmark to know.

Denmark had dismissed it – told Norway not to worry.  
There had been years of prosperity and peace in his country, surely it would just continue!

However, when King Sigurd died something changed.

Norway fell back into war, and his letters to Denmark were nothing less than terrifying.  
If his own people fought amongst themselves, who was he to stand up for?  
Who's side did a nation take when their own people disagreed amongst themselves?

Denmark had no answer to this, but promised him he'd come help.  
Together they'd find a solution to this.  
A way out of the war that was tearing Norway apart from the inside.

He'd agreed to meet Norway by the docks, but there was no one to greet him when he arrived.  
Denmark waited, wondering if he perhaps was too early. The winds had been in his favour after all.  
He would just have to wait a little.

However, as the sun began setting behind the trees, Denmark's impatience got the better off him.

If Norway wouldn't meet him, then he'd go to meet Norway.  
Simple as that.

However; Norway's people were uneasy. They shied away from him when he passed them, whispered words under their breath too softly for Denmark to hear.

Fear was everywhere, even Denmark couldn't ignore the feeling Norway's people radiated.  
Norway's people were at war. Not against another nation but against themselves.

To them he was another potential enemy. Another one to fear.

And yet again he was simply a little too late.

“He's not here,” a man whispered as Denmark stopped outside Norway's old house.  
“Left a week ago.”

“To where?” Denmark asked.

“Don't know. Didn't say,” the man shrugged.

“I need to know where he is.” Denmark pleaded.

“Probably north. Muttered something about Oslo last time we spoke, but he's never been the one to talk much.”

“I see. Thank you,” Denmark replied, pausing for a moment before deciding to check the old house out.  
Several things still stood in their place, people probably didn't dare touch Norway's house even if he was gone.  
Norway had been in a hurry when he left, Denmark could see that much.  
He wandered around the place, stopping to inspect little scrolls of paper but found them insignificant.

With no leads but vague directions Denmark decided to aim for Oslo.

“You're too late,” a woman said when he inquired for Norway himself.  
“He left to join the battle.”

“What battle?” Denmark swallowed nervously. 

“By Biorgvin. There's no knowing who will be king these days.”

“Biorgvin?” Denmark could scream in frustration.

“Yes. Have you not heard King Magnus and King Harald are at war?”

“I... I have heard,” Denmark said weakly. For each passing day the uneasy feeling in his stomach was rising and soon he was sure there would be nothing but bitter taste in his mouth.

Weary and tired as he was, Denmark had made a promise, and he aimed to keep it.

He knew Biorgvin. It was a nice place, a good town to be in. He should have known Norway would end up there.

With seven mountains around it Denmark also deemed it a safe place.

This time, he decided, this time he wouldn't be too late.

Biorgvin was buzzing with life, but the unrest seemed a little more intense here, even if Denmark couldn't quite place why.

“Outskirts of the city,” a man said. “Should find him there...”

“Thank you,” Denmark smiled. Glad to finally be getting somewhere.  
Norway would have a lot to answer for once he found him. Travelling across the country was not on Denmark's lists of fun things to do, lest of all travelling though Norway's country with it's endless mountains. 

He suspected the man was lying when he said 'outskirts', because the further and further Denmark went from the city centre the less safe he started to feel.

People were sparse too, and the few he passed did not wish to speak to him at all.

As darkness fell, Denmark felt fear swell up within him.

The road was dark, but further up ahead a light shone.  
Too brightly for his liking.  
Much too brightly for a mere house or camp fire.

Fear gripped his body and squeezed the air from his lungs, rooting him to the ground where he stood as he got close enough to the light source.

Fire was many things; warmth, home, comfort. But when eating away at a house it was the least comforting thing to a weary travellers eyes.

Men ran back and forth, weapons drawn and clashing against one another – metal glinting in the light from the fire, the burning house the least of their worries as weapons clashed again and again.

Denmark tried to look for Norway.  
Tried to spot a familiar face or shape amongst the numerous men fighting.  
No one seemed remotely familiar.  
No one fought like Norway did, and that chilled him to the bone.

Run, his mind said, but his body reused to listen.

He was too late and he knew it.

Run. Run far away.  
These people are not to be trusted.  
Denmark swallowed nervously as he drew his own sword, fist clenched tightly around the hilt as he tried not to let the tremors in his body show.  
It was too late to run.  
Too late to turn.  
Too late.

The fire raged on in tune with the battle, engulfing what ever and who ever in it's path.  
Denmark felt awful in how quickly he thought little of simply shoving any assailant into the sea of flames.

Norway's people were willed with relentless anger, seemingly as fierce as the fire; and neither showed any signs of dying out.

His body ached and his head pounded, but Denmark pressed on. 

Blood clouded his vision and the heat made it hard to think rationally – but he knew he had to get away.  
Away from the fire and the house.

Away from the people who would stop at nothing to win.

He didn't care what side won.  
He just had to find Norway.

And if Norway wasn't in the midst of the battle, then he had to be somewhere else.

The forest was eerie silent, and Denmark was certain anyone would hear his pained breathing for miles.  
Behind him the battle raged on, fire illuminating the forest enough to make the trees' shadows dance along the forest floor

People had been here too.  
Footprints disturbing the leaves on the ground.  
Some had fled.

But not all had made it.

Denmark's blood ran cold as he got closer to one of the fallen men.  
He didn't like the look of the blond hair matted with dirt and blood.  
Nor did he like the look of the deep blue cloak all torn and bloodied.

Too late.  
Too late to help.  
Too late to save him.

“Norway,” Denmark whispered, hoping and praying for a reply.  
“Come on buddy, wake up,” he pleaded, kneeling down by Norway's lifeless body.

Norway's hands were cold – more so than usual, and he made no sound as Denmark turned him on his back.

The blood on his chest was as cold as the night air, dark as the dirt and too dry to be fresh.

Denmark felt sick.

Stories spoke of a nations heart and the powers one could possess if one held it in one's hands, but it had been a while since he'd seen a gaping hole in Norway's chest.  
The empty cavity where his heart should have been had been filled with grass and a rock – likely to keep him from waking any time soon.

The bitter taste in his stomach rose to his mouth and Denmark was certain his own heart was turning into stone for each pained beat it made.

“Wake up,” he pleaded with Norway. “Come on, wake up. I'm here...” he whispered helplessly.  
“You've got to wake up.”

Denmark wanted to shake Norway till he woke up, scream at him till there was some movement. Anything to say he was still alive.  
He didn't want to be too late again.  
To face the fact that he'd let Norway down.

But the only warmth was the fire behind him and no sound or movement could be found in the forest.

Denmark couldn't stop the tears, not even he he lay Norway gently back down onto the ground, slowly picking leaves and twigs out of his hair, before moving down to clean the wound.  
The rock lays heavy in his hands, stained dark brown with old blood and Denmark feels his hands go colder for every second.

“I'll stay till you wake up,” Denmark whispered, feebly clinging onto a wish that Norway was simply sleeping, even if he knew that was far from the truth.

He wanted Norway to heal himself.  
Wanted the wound to close and for his heart to start beating once more.  
But there was no sign Norway would wake.

He tried to brush Norway's hair away from his face, pausing when he realised he'd painted his hair red with blood.  
“I can't do anything right, can I?” he asked and tried to smile, tears running down his cheeks.  
“Always too late.” he muttered to himself, trying to wipe the tears away.

He stayed by Norway's side till he couldn't control his own shivers, gathering up Norway's lifeless body in his arms.  
“I'll bring you back to Biorgvin,” he whispered softly, hoping someone would allow him to put Norway somewhere safe.  
A safe place he could rest.  
A safe place to heal.  
A safe place so Denmark could return with his own men and find the ones responsible for tearing Norway apart and into pieces.

A safe place to rest until his country needed their nation once more.

**Author's Note:**

> A.N:
> 
> Norway's history is pretty fascinating. For many years Norway has had a bad case of “Too many kings”, and even if Harald Hårfagre (Fairhair in english) put a sort of end to it in his time, it didn't take long before the same problem resurfaced in the middle ages.
> 
> This story is set after Sigurd Jorsalfare's death and the rise of the civil wars that followed.  
> (The danes did end up helping one side of the battle, as they tend to do :P Because if there’s one thing Denmark loves: it’s meddling in Norway and Sweden’s affairs. )  
> The civil war era (”Borgerkrigstiden”) in Norway isn’t the most well known time in history, but personally I really like it. The end of the war that involved ‘Birkebeinerene’ is a more well known part of history, so if you’re interested in Norwegian medieval history then definitively check it out.


End file.
